Reunited
by Wishing-for-a-Wand
Summary: July 27, 1954 - One year after the Korean Armistice, the old campmates meet up in a New York hotel for what will become an annual celebration. They come dealing with the changes of a year at home, the struggles of the war they lived through, and the hope that being together brings. A series of drabbles about the first MASH 4077 reunion. Some funny, some sweet, some sad, all MASH.
1. Reveille

The distinctive tinkle of spoon on glass didn't do much to pause the room's conversations. A year after the war's end, Radar O'Reilly stood at the front of the crowd, clearing his throat and clinking the glass again.

"What, no bugle?"

Radar rolled his eyes, and some joker in the back of the crowd called loudly, "Attention, all personnel!" There was a chorus of laughter, but the reunited MASH 4077 quieted down enough to listen to the former company clerk.

Boy, it was good to see them all again. Radar had been dreaming of this reunion since he beat everyone else home, but he hadn't been fully sure that it would work. That everyone would be able to come together like this again. That they would even want to.

But here they were, staring back at him like they were at reveille or like he'd brought in the mail. He felt a little like how he had when he saw the farm for the first time after the war. Being here with these people felt a little like being home.

"Welcome to the first annual MASH 4077 Reunion," he greeted them. "Well," he amended, with a glance at some family members in the crowd, "the first one most of us've been home for anyway. Anyhow, we've got three days together, and it's great to see everybody!"


	2. Again

"Hawk!"

The dark haired man turned at the sound of his name and was immediately pulled into a bear hug. "B.J.! Look at this, we're back!"

B.J. was grinning, one hand still clasped on his friend's shoulder. "But thank God we're not in Korea!"

"Hawkeye! B.J.!"

Both men turned now to see the camp's head nurse coming toward them. "Margaret!" Hawkeye exclaimed, hugging her tight then holding her at arms distance and taking in a year's worth of changes. "How are you?"

The nurse beamed, studying his face as well. "Oh, I missed you, Hawkeye."

"Not possibly more than I missed you." His voice turned incredulous. "Who would have guessed that?"

"Oho," B.J. called. "I spy a Winchester. Oh, Charles!"

"So how are you?" Margaret asked Hawkeye.

"Good, good, great! You?"

The tall Bostonian made his way over to their circle. "I thought perhaps I was in the wrong place." He paused dramatically, but failed to cover the smile in his eyes. "Now I know I am."

Hawkeye clapped a hand on Charles' shoulder. "You missed us, didn't you?"

B.J. shrugged and smiled. "He must have. He's here, isn't he?"

"Gentlemen," Charles drawled. "It is rude to refuse an invitation when you are acquainted with the host."

Margaret rolled her eyes but was just as full of smiles as the rest of the group. "Oh, Charles."

B.J. grinned at his upperclass friend, memories of their time in the Swamp filling his mind. "Boy, I even missed you, you big lug."

Charles lifted a finger, pointing warningly at the Californian. "Hunnicutt, that title can only be used one way in this friendship.

"Then say it."

There was a pause, but even Charles' mask of composure slipped as he said it. "I missed you, you big lug."

Hawkeye was cackling. "Oh, this is great! The gang's back together!"

"And the situation," Charles pointed out, "is much improved."

"So are the drinks," Margaret added, wrapping an arm around Hawkeye and B.J. who threw an arm around Charles' shoulders. "Come on, boys, we have some catching up to do."


	3. Best

For all the glitz and glamor of this high end, New York establishment, someone had tried awfully hard to make it resemble the flea bitten camp where they'd made their home for three years. As Hawkeye Pierce entered the large ballroom, he passed under a familiar sign: "MASH 4077 - Best Care Anywhere."

The sight stirred up feelings of pride, ones that had been absent too often this past year. He remembered the pain, the blood, the horror of it all. He remembered the failures all too clearly. But that sign sent a different message, one that didn't have to be contradictory.

They'd been good. They'd _done_ good.

There were stories of success alongside the failures. He'd obsessed over one and completely forgotten the other. Maybe learning to live with it all meant remembering that there was both.


	4. Service

Just as they had on their last night together, each old camp member stood after dinner and gave the appropriate introductions as well as a brief report of their year. Father Mulcahy looked around the ballroom, taking in faces he'd not seen in a long time. Faces he'd never forgotten.

After introducing his sister the Sister, he was at a loss for how to summarize his year. He'd purposely kept his deafness a secret in the last days of the war. Describing the uphill battle against both the handicap and his self worth would make no sense to those who hadn't heard of the struggle.

Yet, he resolved to be honest. He'd not lie to these people. "Well, as a few of you have come to know," he began, "I suffered an injury toward the end of the war that left me partially deaf. Coming home after that wasn't quite what I expected, and I couldn't seem to find a place in either the diocese or my home city of Philadelphia."

He glanced around at the surprised and sympathetic faces. "But these days, I'm settled in Missouri," he reassured them. "A few different surgeries have restored my hearing for the most part, and I'm serving as a chaplain at a Veterans' Hospital!"

Not for the first time he saw the irony of the situation. And, he thought, a glimpse of the purpose. "Having experienced what I have has made me better able to understand the patients I work with. I think it's made me better able to serve them."

* * *

The Missouri Veteran's Home concept follows the plot of the spin-off show, After MASH. This story will borrow several of my favorite details of that show.


	5. Partner

There was a wide swath of floor reserved for dancing, and instead of the nickel jukebox that had graced the old Officer's Club, there was an actual band. What's more, B.J. reflected, there was his favorite dance partner.

"This is some party you and Radar put on."

Peg smiled up at him, and he got lost a moment in the reality of it all. He had the best friends of his life gathered together in this room. But for the first time he had his beloved family there with him, too. It had all the appearance of a wonderful dream.

His wife's voice stirred him from his wonderings. "Most of this was Radar's doing. He's been eagerly planning it ever since he made it home."

B.J. nodded. "Still, he was smart to call in backup."

"Well, I was the only other person who had ever planned a MASH 4077 reunion."

"Ah, yes. The Great Hunnicutt Reunion Caper of '52." It had been his idea, but Peg had been the one to put everything together stateside. According to everyone who'd attended, it had been a tremendous success. "I'm sure the last party was fantastic, but I have to admit," he said, pulling her closer, "This one is my favorite."

Peg leaned her head on his chest as they continued to sway. "Mine, too."


	6. Introductions

Charles was met by Max and Soon Lee Klinger, the old company clerk carrying a baby. "Hello, and who might this little fellow be?"

Klinger smiled proudly and turned the child so that Charles could see his face. He had a crop of thick black hair and his father's unfortunately prominent nose. "This is Cy Young," Soon Lee said, beaming.

"He's named after one of Toledo's greatest baseball stars," Klinger explained. He smiled at his wife. "Plus Young is a good Korean name, so he's got the best of both worlds. Here, Major, want to hold him?"

Touched by the gesture, Charles reached his arms out for the small boy. He cradled him gently and studied his small face, hoping fervently that the child would grow into his nose and noting that he had also inherited his father's inquisitive eyes. "Please, Klinger. We are no longer in Korea or the army. Call me," there was a characteristic pause, "Doctor."

The Lebanese clerk looked at him with twinkling black eyes. "You don't mean that."

Charles allowed himself a smile at his old friend. "No, I don't … Max."


	7. Assigned Seating

Circular tables fanned out across the rest of the large room. Wandering past a few, Hawkeye found himself chuckling at the place cards. There appeared to be no seating chart, but someone had cleverly dubbed each of the tables after a tent in their old compound.

He'd spotted the "Mess Tent" and the "Lab" and was now on the lookout for the "Nurses' Showers."


	8. Civilian

Margaret stood from her spot at the table labeled "The Swamp." The last time they'd done this, each person had described their plans and dreams for returning home. Now they were summing up their year and sharing new developments, but what were you supposed to say when your plans and dreams weren't working out entirely how you planned?

"I told you all last time we met that I planned on working at a hospital in the states. After a great deal of thought, I decided that I wanted to be a nurse in the civilian arena, too.

"That's right," she told them all. "No more Major Houlihan. I'm plain old Nurse Houlihan these days. Head Nurse, I should say, at a hospital near Fort Ord in California. The work is challenging and fulfilling, and for now, that's all I need."


	9. Entertainment

"So what have you got lined up for entertainment, Radar?" Hawkeye asked.

Radar grinned. "All the old favorites."

B.J. and Hawkeye gladly filled the group in on some of the "old favorites" that had kept them on the edge of entertained in Korea. "Dysentery."

"Food poisoning."

"Cockroach races."

"Cockroach races!" Hawkeye excitedly repeated B.J.'s suggestion. He turned to Radar. "How'd you get the hotel to agree to that?"

The old company clerk was rolling his eyes, but the two former captains were still going. "Boy, I wish I still had Blue Velvet," B.J. reminisced.

Peg, standing at his elbow, raised a curious eyebrow. "Blue Velvet?"

"His racing cockroach," Hawkeye supplied. "A champion, a real thoroughbred."

"Did he go pro?" Peg asked with a grin.

B.J. shook his head in exaggerated sadness. "He would have if it hadn't been for the accident."

"Torn ACL?"

Hawkeye laid one hand reverently over his heart. "More like smashed thorax. Klinger stepped on him."

Overhearing this, Klinger defended himself loudly. "An honest mistake! How was I supposed to know Blue Velvet from his thousands of cockroach kin?"

"Anyway, Radar, when do the cockroach races start?"

Radar groaned. "This is a classy place; we're not doing that! Besides, where would I find a cockroach around here?"

Hawkeye patted the younger man on the shoulder. "Oh well. Next year we'll bring our own."


	10. Priorities

Baby Cy Young was fussing in his arms, and Klinger decided his son might need to visit the latrine. He bounced the infant gently as he headed for the door, making cooing noises to soothe the child. There was a table next to the door that didn't have any label, and Klinger paused to see what it held.

There was a framed photo and a large specimen jar holding twenty dollars. A sign of its own proclaimed it to be "The Henry Blake Memorial Fund," proceeds going to help put the departed colonel's three children through school.

The baby was starting to fuss again, but Klinger continued to rock him as he pried another twenty from his own wallet and stuffed it into the jar.

This trip to New York was already a strain on his minimum wage income, and whatever money he and Soon Lee ever scraped together tended to go toward rent or diapers. But as he told his crying son, "Some things matter more."


	11. Ragtime

Father Mulcahy meandered through the crowded ballroom, carrying a glass of water for his sister on saxophone. He stopped every now and then to greet former parishioners and gain introductions to their loved ones.

He was amazed at how many details he remembered about these people and how many faces he could place in the crowd of relatives he'd never met. But then, a memory for personal stories was the bread and butter of a priest. He might not hear so well anymore, but he could sure still remember.

"Here you go, Sis," he said to the nun wailing on the sax. Teresa blasted out another few staccato notes, took the water, and smiled at him.

A familiar voice called to him from one of the tables. "Join them, Father! Play us a tune!"

Grinning widely, Mulcahy called back to his friend. "I might just do that!"

Settling down at the piano, Father Mulcahy took a last look at Hawkeye. The camp's resident troublemaker was seated at a table full of women, wearing his trademark smile and flirting up a storm. Mulcahy would bet top dollar that he'd chosen to sit at the table marked, "Nurses' Showers."


	12. Obvious

B.J. clapped a friendly hand on the older doctor's shoulder. He'd met Daniel Pierce some months ago when he visited Hawkeye, and he found his friend's father to be just as warm, welcoming, and good humored as he'd always imagined. "How are you doing, Dr. Pierce?"

"B.J.! Good to see you, son. And how many times am I going to have to tell you - call me Daniel."

Nodding, B.J. corrected himself. "Daniel. And speaking of sons, where is yours?"

Daniel smirked, an expression B.J. had grown very familiar with on his son's features, and cocked his head to a corner of the ballroom. There an animated Hawkeye Pierce was talking with with the camp's old head nurse. The pair of them were standing very close together.

The younger doctor held in a laugh at his friends. "I'm sure he'll introduce you in a minute," he said, suspecting that Hawkeye had quite forgotten the presence of anyone else at the reunion.

Daniel seemed to share his suspicions, but shrugged. "Oh, I don't think I need introductions." He nodded to the blonde Major with his son. "Margaret Houlihan, am I right?"

"You got it in one."

Hawkeye's father smiled widely. "I didn't read three years worth of Hawk's letters to not recognize his colleagues." He gave B.J. a conspiratorial wink. "Or how he felt about them."

B.J. did laugh now. Amazing how little time it took for an observer to peg the spark between Hawkeye and Margaret. What was more amazing was how those two could still be so blind to it. "I think you might know more than they do."

"Well," Daniel drawled, "If they don't figure it out soon, I'm going to tell them."


	13. Must Be

"Ladies and Gents," Potter began his summarizing address. "It gives me great joy to perform an introduction long overdue." He gestured happily to the woman beside him. "This is the Mrs."

Mildred Potter, looking just like her picture, gave them all a big smile. "I'm so glad to finally meet all the young people Sherman's adopted."

B.J. grinned. "You must be Mom."

Mildred laughed and Potter smiled toothily. "You know, I wouldn't mind at that."


	14. Grown Up

Hawkeye sauntered over to where Radar was standing close to a lovely blonde woman. He looped a long arm around Radar's shoulders and grinned at the young lady. "You must be Patty Haven. We've heard a lot about you."

Radar's first letters back to the 4077th had recounted his meeting and subsequent dating of the army nurse, something that had filled Hawkeye with glee and pride. Word on the post-war street was that the two were quite close and headed toward something permanent.

Patty smiled back at him, friendly and only a little shy. "Well," she smiled, "You're mostly right."

Hawkeye's own smile turned puzzled. "Come again?"

Radar cleared his throat and reached over to take Patty's hand. "You're right, Hawkeye. This is Patty. Only now her last name's my name on account of how we got married."

"You got what?!"

The younger man grinned proudly. "Oh, you heard it alright."

"Married?!" Hawkeye exclaimed. "You're not old enough for puberty, let alone matrimony!"

"I am so!" Radar countered. "I'm twenty-two and a grown up guy. And anyhow, that's how it is. We're married."

"I'm just a little shocked." Hawkeye playfully ruffled Radar's hair. "I don't know if I'm old enough to have such a grown up son."

Radar swatted his hand away. "Come off it." He turned to Patty, explaining, "I'm not really his son, he just gets that way sometimes."

"Unbelievable as this is, I'm truly happy for you both." All jokes aside, the young man before him really had grown up. And it looked as though he was doing just fine.

Radar grinned at Hawkeye and with a twinkle in his eye, said, "Don't worry, Hawkeye. It'll happen to you someday."


	15. Repurposed

There were a few odd shaped balloons scattered across the big room, and Potter laughed out loud to discover that they were each made out of a blown up surgical glove. Radar must have ordered a case of them. Or he'd slipped one home in his duffel bag.

He snagged a balloon from its tether and trotted it back to the table labeled "V.I.P. Tent." There Mildred was looking after an energetic Erin Hunnicutt while her parents danced. The three year old had adjusted rather quickly to the crowd of strangers, and when he took a seat, she scrambled up into his lap to see the balloon.

B.J. had been positively gushing when he introduced his family, and Potter wasn't sure the boy'd ever get the smile off his face. Not that he'd want him to.

The old Colonel had never been so touched as when B.J. told his baby girl that he was Grandpa Sherman.

"Unless you mind, Colonel," he'd said.

Erin bopped the balloon with a chubby fist and looked up at him with a baby tooth smile. No, he certainly didn't mind.

* * *

For anyone wondering, there will be forty-two chapters in this story. More to come; stay tuned. :)


	16. Contribution

Hawkeye wandered past the table by the door, the one with the specimen jar half filled with money. He paused to read the sign, noting the fine print that said this jar would be the recipient of all poker winnings for the weekend. Hawkeye smiled. It was appropriate that Henry's children would be put through school with the poker winnings of his old pals.

Although he planned to lose money in the night's poker game, he slipped his own contribution into the Henry Blake Memorial Fund, knowing that he'd probably be back later to do the same thing.


	17. Proud

The table was crowded with former nurses of the 4077th. There were some like Bigelow and Kellye who had been there from the very beginning and others for whom the camp had only been a stop along the way. Margaret prided herself that she could remember each of their names.

She may not have allowed herself to be close to the nurses under her charge, but she had cared for them. She'd done her best to push them and challenge them, but she'd also done all she could to defend them and look after them. Margaret knew she'd been no den mother - they were in the army, for Pete's sake! - but she hoped they knew what she'd had such trouble saying.

She was proud of every single one of them.

Margaret allowed herself a private smile as she wandered past where they were talking and laughing, sharing pictures and stories. She wouldn't be surprised if someone broke out a helmet of fudge.

"Major?" Kellye's voice was unexpected, and Margaret turned back to the table. The shorter woman offered her an inviting smile. "Won't you join us?"

Margaret's lips parted in surprise, then a smile of her own appeared. "I'd love to," she answered. "And please, try calling me Margaret."


	18. Difference

Father Mulcahy was a little surprised when Charles Winchester pulled him off to the side. "Have you a minute, Father?"

"Certainly," the priest replied, curiosity contributing to his usual willingness to listen. "What can I do for you?"

Charles looked contemplative a moment more then posed his question. "Do you still have any contact with that orphanage in Korea?"

Mulcahy's eyebrows shot up in surprise. "Limited correspondence, yes. The mail is even worse now that the army's pulled out, but Sister Theresa does keep me updated."

"And, uh, how are they faring?"

The Father slipped his glasses from his nose and gave them a dusting. "It's not been easy for them. In many ways, the war isn't over for those children. They have fighting left to do." He set his glasses back in place and peered at the doctor. "Why do you ask, Major?"

"I merely wondered through what conduit I could contribute."

"To the orphans?"

Charles nodded. "Yes. I have not been able to forget their faces." His gaze turned faraway, and for a moment the two men shared a vision of the tiny children who had captured their hearts.

"Oh, Charles! That's wonderful!" Mulcahy exclaimed, pumping his hand in an exuberant shake. "You'll never know the difference you'll make." The wealthy doctor's support meant food, blankets, opportunities. For some child, it meant life.

"Perhaps not," Winchester agreed. "But they shall feel the difference."


	19. Finally

B.J. stood for his turn, a little girl held in his right arm and a lovely blonde woman tucked under his left. "Last time we did this, I told you I was headed home to a beautiful city and the best family a man could ask for." He smiled toothily. "And I did exactly that.

"If you ever had a conversation with me in Korea, you'll recognize these two because I never stopped talking about them. This is my wife, Peg, one of the organizers of this terrific reunion. And this is our daughter, Erin."

B.J. was nearly bursting with pride. "I still do the doctoring thing, but mostly I enjoy finally being husband and daddy." Erin placed a wet kiss on his cheek.


	20. Full House

The poker game was still going strong even though it was closer to dawn than to midnight. Sidney Freedman studied his cards, wondering if he was brave enough to bluff his way through. The whole gang was crowded around a table in Hawkeye's hotel room. Family members and most of the old camp had already gone to bed, but somehow it was an unspoken agreement that this group would be here until morning.

"Just like old times, isn't it?" Klinger observed, blowing on his cigar.

Sidney decided it wasn't late enough for such a bad bluff and laid his cards down. "Just like old times I'm having the pants beat off of me."

"Just slide on the ice, Sidney," Hawkeye quipped, quoting one of the psychiatrist's favorite pieces of advice.

B.J. yawned and tossed his own hand to the table. "I remember being better at cards than this."

Hawkeye took a sip of his martini and smiled appreciatively. "I remember the drinks being worse than this. Maybe that has something to do with it." He, too, set his cards down.

"Forget the drinks," Sidney said, snagging a sandwich from the tray Father Mulcahy was passing around. "These snacks aren't moving."

Margaret shrugged. "Maybe that was because of the lousy drinks, too."

Colonel Potter also accepted a late night sandwich. "No chance. Food was lousy on its own."

"That's when it wasn't lethal."

With most of the company already out, Radar laid down his hand. "Full house."

"Radar!" Hawkeye exclaimed while everyone else groaned. "You're cleaning up again?!"

Klinger elbowed the younger man. "You spend the last two years learning poker, kid?"

Radar chortled happily, sweeping in his winnings. "Deal the cards; let's play again."


	21. Everyone

The two of them were sitting at the hotel bar, over which a hand painted sign had renamed it "Rosie's Bar" for the weekend. Hawkeye had ordered a martini dry as the Sahara and Radar was nursing a grape Nehi.

"I invited him, Hawkeye. Honest, along with everybody else. Only he just didn't come."

The doctor was confused by the sudden conversational detour. "Who, Radar?"

"Trapper."

The name hung in the air for a moment, and Hawkeye slowly lowered his drink. "Trapper." He hadn't been expecting that.

"I thought it'd be nice for you to see him again. Plus I invited everybody. But he didn't show. Gee, I'm sorry, Hawkeye."

Hawkeye shook his head. "No, Radar, it's okay." He hadn't even thought about Trapper possibly coming to the reunion. He'd been ecstatic to see B.J., he'd had dreams about seeing Margaret, and he'd even looked forward to seeing Charles. But Trapper - he hadn't thought about Trapper in a long time.

"It's okay. Everyone I wanted to see is right here."

He spent a moment looking around the crowded ballroom. Colonel Potter was laughing with Klinger, and from their hand gestures they were trying to explain one of Klinger's escape ploys to Mrs. Potter and Soon Lee. B.J. and Charles were for some reason engaged in an arm wrestling contest, with Father Mulcahy serving as the referee. Margaret was actually having a conversation with his father.

That last view made him do a double take, but his gaze finally returned to Radar sitting next to him - the young man who'd once run an entire MASH unit and slept with a teddy bear. Hawkeye reached over and squeezed Radar's shoulder. Yes, everyone he needed was right here.


	22. KP Duty

No smile was wider than Igor's when the food was brought out. For one thing, he wasn't expected to serve it. There'd be no standing and sweating over a hot lunch line today. Not for him, no sir.

Then again, as a delicious smelling plate was placed in front of him, Igor almost wished he could be the one to dish out this food. Someone would actually have thanked him for this stuff.


	23. Juvenile

Dinner was brought out by a host of serving people, and though each plate was stylishly covered, the smell had mouths watering before the first one was lifted. A chorus of appreciative and hungry noises sounded around the table dubbed "The Swamp."

A few of the plates were set down and their covers swept away. "Oh, that looks delicious!" Margaret said approvingly.

Hawkeye plunged a fork into the meal then waved it under his nose. "Beej, smell this!"

B.J. rolled his eyes. "You do this with real food, too?"

Charles smiled drolly at his dinner partners. They were still the juvenile delinquents he'd been forced to bunk with, but at this particular moment, he wouldn't have them any other way. That was the nature of his gracious thoughts until the server removed the cover from his meal - revealing a plate full of rubber chicken.

"Very funny," he said, drawing out the words.

The rest of the table turned to look at his plate and the two chief suspects burst into laughter. "Chicken Cordon Bleu?" Hawkeye snickered.

B.J. shook his head in mock seriousness. "I'd send it back, Charles. It looks undercooked."

"Rubbery, even," Margaret put in, sending Hawkeye into a whole other fit of laughter.

With a long suffering sigh, Charles stared them down. "Children," he said, "We are no longer in Korea. This is a civilized venue; have you no table manners?"

"Right, right. This is a classy place," Hawkeye agreed, waving an arm around the ballroom. "That's not toilet paper, you know, it's real bunting."

"Maybe it's for nostalgia," B.J. suggested. "The Mess Tent served more than one rubber chicken."

"Except they labeled it meatloaf."

Charles was somewhat less amused by their banter than he'd been a few moments ago. "So this is how it's going to be, hmm? Well, so be it."

"Charles, it wasn't even us," B.J. protested.

"Speak for yourself."

"It was you?"

"No," Hawkeye admitted. "But I wanted to say it."

Another plate was brought out, and Charles prodded cautiously at the meal thereupon. "It just so happens, that I don't believe either one of you."


	24. Report

Klinger stood proudly when it was his turn, Soon Lee and Cy Young with him. "You wouldn't believe what my year has looked like," he told the crowd. "First, I ended up staying in Korea! Soon Lee and I searched for her family for another month, and then helped get them started with a new farm of their own. We finally made it back to the states and home to good old Toledo."

Here was where the story got tricky. Toledo, beloved city though it was, hadn't been a welcoming place for his bride. And as much as he loved it, he loved Soon Lee more.

There was also the matter of his arrest as a bookie, the subsequent trial, and appeal letter from Colonel Potter. There was also the matter of being flat broke pretty much since he put on his civvies.

All this, Klinger decided, was not for the general public. His close friends knew, and the rest he'd give the highlights. "We didn't stay in Toledo for more than a couple of months, and in a strange turn of events, Soon Lee and I are living in Missouri, where I work at the same hospital as Father Mulcahy and Colonel Potter! And now we have Cy Young. Boy, what a year!"


	25. Recovery

Sorry for the delay. Here's the next installment!

* * *

"You know, I don't think I meant it." Hawkeye's words were quiet, and he said them without looking her way.

"Meant what?" Margaret asked.

Hawkeye picked at invisible lint on his suit jacket sleeves. "Earlier," he said, vaguely. "When we first ran into each other. You asked how I was."

Margaret was slowly beginning to catch on. Her usually direct friend was being hazy, and that was enough to sound a warning bell in her head. "You said you were fine. Good, great. You're not?"

There seemed to be a lot of lint on his jacket. "I wasn't. This year…," he paused to push a hand through hair that didn't look as though it had lost any of its gray in the last year home. "It's been hard to come back." She stayed quiet, waiting for him.

"I relapsed for a while. I stopped sleeping. I thought about setting up a still in my living room. I even gave up doctoring for a time. Not just surgery - all of it." He'd moved away from the jacket, and his fingers were scraping distractedly at the table top. "I couldn't handle the memories."

She didn't say anything for a long moment, trying to understand what he'd just told her. "You never said anything in your letters."

"Naw." He smiled ruefully and gave a little shrug. "I didn't know what to say. I didn't know if you'd want to know."

"Did anyone know?"

"My dad. Who then told B.J. Colonel Potter found out, eventually. I spent some time down in Missouri with him, Klinger, and Father Mulcahy. That helped. I talked with Sidney. That helped."

Just before they'd left each other, he'd suffered the hardest blow of the war. Or maybe it was just the last blow he could suffer without breaking. The baby on the bus had near about destroyed him. And watching him fall had almost destroyed the rest of them.

She slipped a hand into his, interrupting his fidgeting fingers. "Are you all right, Hawkeye?"

Hawkeye met her eyes for the first time since beginning the conversation. "I really think I will be. It's a waiting game, you know? They're not kidding when they recommend time as the ultimate healer. I've prescribed it a thousand times, but I never really knew it until now."

"What can I do?"

He tightened his hold on her hand. "What you've always done, Margaret. Be there for me."

Margaret tilted her head, studying his blue eyes. "Let me be."

"I guess that means you want me to tell you things." As far as joke attempts went, it was a poor one.

"Please."

He shifted a little. "It's not fun to hear."

"Hawkeye," she stopped him. "Tell me anyway."

Hawkeye smiled at her persistence. "Okay, but this has to go both ways. How are you, Margaret? Honestly?"

"Honestly? It's been a tough year for us both. But you and I … we'll be okay."

He looked to where their hands were still locked. "Yeah. I believe that."


	26. Surprise

Radar had a faint blush on his cheeks as he stood to give his report. "I've been home for two years now, looking after Ma and the farm and all."

He grinned widely. "I met a girl named Patty when I was still over in Korea, and it wasn't long after that I fell in love with her, heads and heels and everything. Some of you knew that, but what I didn't tell you is that she and I decided to get married and went ahead and did."

Radar shrugged shyly while the whole room broke out in whistles and applause. "Surprise."


	27. Winners

Klinger yawned into the elbow pillowing his head, and Father Mulcahy finished tallying the numbers from the all night poker session. "Well, I'd say this night was a success all around!" The priest smiled good-naturedly. "Even for us 'losers.'"

Hawkeye pulled the large specimen jar out from under the table, and took the wad of money from the Father. To everyone's astonishment, Radar had ended up winning most of the night's cash, but with all of the proceeds going to charity, no one was complaining.

"That session certainly added a pretty penny to the Henry Blake Memorial Fund," Sidney observed. "Back again tomorrow night?"

"If we have anything left by then."

Hawkeye folded the bills and stuffed them into the specimen jar with ceremony. "Andrew, Molly, Sammy, this is for you."

Radar wiped his glasses and settled them back on his face. "You, too, Colonel Blake."


	28. Accused

"Cute, real cute," Hawkeye smirked. He pulled up a seat next to B.J. at the breakfast table and started buttering a muffin.

"She is, isn't she?" B.J. agreed, nodding to his tiny daughter sitting beside him.

"Adorable," Hawkeye acknowledged. "But I wasn't talking about Erin; I was referring to that stunt you pulled last night. And here I thought I'd missed you."

"I _know_ you missed me."

Erin happily greeted her Uncle Hawkeye, and he paused his rant to smile at the girl. But he wasn't off put by B.J.'s adorable defense. "Oh yeah? I'm not so sure after waking to find my shoes full of oatmeal."

"So?" B.J. asked distractedly. After helping Erin scoop up the last of her eggs, he turned to his best friend. "What, you think that was me?"

"Of course, I think it was you! You're the one who was always pulling the pranks! Who else could it be?"

B.J. shook his head and nodded pointedly at the woman sitting on Pierce's other side. "Who was the last person to put oatmeal in your shoes?"

Hawkeye whipped around to his left. "That's right, it was Margaret!"

The former Major waved her fork at him. "Uh-uh, Pierce. I wasn't anywhere near your room last night."

The doctor gave her a flirtatious smile. "Well, there's always tonight."


	29. Original

Colonel Potter shook his head at the bunch of overgrown teenagers before him as he listed their latest exploits. "Stealing skivvies and short-sheeting beds - these are summer camp capers! You people used to be more original than this."

Hawkeye shrugged his lanky shoulders. "We tried to park a jeep in the foyer, but we couldn't get it through the revolving doors."

"Or out of Korea," B.J. added.

"And anyway," Charles protested, "who said it was us?"


	30. Evening Wear

She went to dinner in her dress uniform. He went in swim fins and his Groucho Marx glasses. Margaret rolled her eyes as soon as she saw Pierce. Radar had mentioned that this would be a formal dinner, and considering the weekend's commemoration, she had considered it appropriate to break out her class A's. After all, unlike most of these jokers, she was still proud of her military service. She was also proud of how she knew she looked in this uniform.

To his credit, Hawkeye was at least wearing a tux along with his more ridiculous accessories. He sauntered up to her just outside the ballroom and offered his arm jauntily.

"Evening, fair lady. Would you care to join me for dinner?" he asked in the affected tone usually reserved for mocking Charles.

"You look ridiculous," Margaret told him honestly as he waggled his mask's bushy eyebrows.

"Is that a no?" But he didn't remove his arm.

Margaret studied him thoughtfully, fondly. He really was ridiculous, but in a lovable kind of way. The kind of way that kept them all going through the long years of the war. In the way that had brought a smile to her own face again and again. "No," she said softly.

"Was _that_ a no?"

Margaret rolled her eyes again. "Oh, shut up," she said, taking his proffered arm.


	31. Section Eight

At first glance, there was nothing unusual about the picture of Klinger in a knee length dress, and it was a moment before Father Mulcahy remembered that a Section Eight would hardly do the man any good now.

"Klinger!" he called to the former corporal who was strutting down the hallway in fashionable pumps. "It's been a long time since I saw you in chartreuse," he observed. "I thought you'd given up on handbags and heels."

Klinger spread his hands in a gesture of defeat. "Trust me, Father, this wasn't my first choice. But the brocade skirt wasn't my size."

"I'm still perplexed to see you in a dress again."

"It was all I had!" the Lebanese explained. "Somebody swiped my suitcase this morning! Shirts, ties, pants, and shoes all gone. In their place, my closet was filled with dresses, skirts, and peasant blouses. They left me one pair of boxers folded underneath a pair of opal earrings."

The priest held back an amused chuckle. "Oh my. This is quite the elaborate prank. Any idea who it was?"

Klinger held up his fingers. "Four strong candidates come to mind. Two captains, two majors, all pranksters."

"Well, you'll be happy to hear that a lone shoe was discovered at breakfast. It seems you're hot on the trail of your pilfered laundry."

"Thanks, Father." The dress wearing clerk marched determinedly off to the breakfast room, head held high in a feathered hat.

"Klinger, just one thing puzzles me." Klinger turned back, and Father Mulcahy sent him a small smile. "The dress I could understand, but why did you choose to wear the earrings?"

Straightening up and pulling down his skirt, Klinger returned the smile. "Because if there's one thing I learned in the army, it's that it pays to accessorize." With that he spun on a heel and went in search of his suitcase.

Father Mulcahy allowed himself a laugh. "Good luck, my son!"


	32. In Memoriam

There'd always been the chance that he'd meet an early retirement plan in the army. The possibility of coming home lying down instead of standing up hadn't really sunk in until about the second week of his first war, but once it had, it wasn't something he'd ever forgotten.

Sherman Potter studied the picture next to the specimen jar full of money. It showed a tall, smiling man with a hat strewn full of fishing hooks and lures. For Potter, death in war had always stayed just a possibility. Not for this man.

This man who had seen the whole motley crew through their first year in Korea. Sherman owed something to him, to the man who had first looked after the people he had so come to love.

He placed a crisp hundred dollar note into the brimming jar. Then backing up a pace, delivered a crisp salute to the picture. "Well done, Colonel."


	33. Invitation

"You know, there was one other person I invited who didn't come," Radar said over his bottle of grape Nehi.

Hawkeye racked his brain trying to figure out who wasn't there. He'd seen Zale when he had to break up a potential fistfight between him and Klinger who had again been wearing a dress. He'd spotted Rizzo napping on a couch in the foyer. It seemed as though the gang was all here. "Who, Radar?"

"Frank Burns."

The doctor nearly spit out his drink. " _Frank Burns_? Old Ferret Face? You invited him?"

"Well, sure," Radar protested. "I invited everybody!" A small smile crept across his face. "I'm sort of glad he didn't come though."

Hawkeye was busy picturing this reunion with Frank there. He was glad, too. Raising his martini glass, he led a toast to the absent major. "To Frank Burns, wherever you are," he paused dramatically, "Thank God you stayed there."


	34. Return

"I am, of course, Head of Thoracic Surgery at Massachusetts General," Charles said when it was his turn to summarize his year home. "Returning to Boston was a truly delightful and long awaited experience. I continue to practice surgery with every ounce of my considerable skill in a _real_ , funded hospital. I consume only the finest of foods.

"I am again surrounded by civilization and culture, and I frequently enjoy the most excellent concerts and the society of the upperclass. I live _alone_ in a tastefully elegant townhouse in one of Boston's oldest neighborhoods. And," he faltered for a moment, "and I missed you all."


	35. Old Favorite

He watched the old company clerk make his way across the ballroom. The young man's progress was interrupted nearly every three feet, and it was these interruptions that had captured Potter's attention. Radar was passing by the table labeled "Supply Tent" when Nurse Bigelow tapped him on the shoulder. When the boy turned around, the nurse gave him a kiss on the cheek.

Cupping his cheek with his hand, Radar stumbled away with wide eyes. Only to run into Kellye who planted one on his other cheek. Thoroughly confused and more than a little frightened, Radar bolted for the doors.

Before reaching them, he ran into Hawkeye who gave him a wide grin and kissed both his cheeks in the French fashion.

Potter leaned toward B.J. "What's that on Radar's back?"

The younger doctor chuckled. "A sign that says "Kiss Me." A slight variation on an old favorite."

Joining in the laughter, Potter shook his head. That was one of the weekend's more original pranks, alright. "Your doing, I take it?"

"Now, now, Colonel. I didn't say that."

"The mad prankster strikes again."

The two men turned their full attention back to Radar whose face was a study in horror. His mouth was gaping open and his eyes were as round as his glasses. While still sputtering at Hawkeye, he was tapped on the shoulder. Spinning him around, this new woman planted one squarely on the lips.

Potter and B.J. could hear Hawkeye hooting with laughter as Patty Haven O'Reilly kissed the daylights out of her husband.


	36. Together

The four of them were perched on barstools under the sign that said "Rosie's." It was late into the night and most of the other reunion guests had long ago retired. But the old gang was still nursing their drinks, reluctant to forfeit the company for sleep. Their one concession to the lateness of the hour was that each was dressed in their bathrobe.

They were cackling and laughing, more than a little drunk. Since the bartender had long ago retired, B.J., in his baby blue bathrobe, was poring them another round.

Wiping away tears that laughter had driven from his eyes, Charles mused philosophical between wheezes. "You know, there is one thing that camp had that Boston seems to lack."

"Fleas?" Hawkeye suggested.

Charles, also in blue bathrobe, coughed out a laugh and shook his head. "No."

B.J. shoved a full glass toward each of them. "Boston has fleas."

"What then, Charles?" Margaret, in her pink bathrobe, lifted her drink.

"Friends."

Hawkeye, clad in his iconic red bathrobe, peered around Margaret at the other doctor. "Careful, Charles. You just called us friends."

The bald head nodded. "That's what I meant, too. I had a hundred friends back home." He peered thoughtfully at the group. "But none who meant so much."

Margaret squeezed his arm, sharing both the experience and the sentiment. She raised her scotch in a toast. "To friends."

"Here, here."

* * *

Thank you to all of you who have left reviews! They make my day. :)


	37. Remembered

This one is one of my favorites. :)

* * *

Hawkeye stood, and a feeling almost like peace welled in his heart as he gazed out at his audience. It was a feeling he'd not known much this past year, but these friends, this _family_ , brought it to him now.

"I don't know if there are words to summarize this last year for me. It was sounds and pictures and tastes and sensations - all of them wrapped together in a bundle of overstimulation. Some of them were the things I'd longed for three years to feel, and some of them I hope I never feel again.

"The year was characterized by longing. Not quite the sort that we experienced during the war, but longing just the same. For life the way it had been, the way it was before discovering I was too broken to fit back into it. Longing for a way to forget horror and terror even though it's lodged in my bones, and my head, and my heart. Longing for all of you."

He breathed in slowly and studied the faces that peered into his. Potter's eyes were watery with sympathetic understanding. B.J. forced an encouraging smile. Charles' inclined his head in a salute that said he knew the feeling all too well. Margaret reached up and squeezed his hand. Radar and Klinger and Father Mulcahy each gave him looks that told him he was heard and understood.

Hawkeye tried a smile and found that it came easier than expected. The year home had been a struggle, and there had been times when he wasn't sure if he hadn't come home just to fall apart. But the truth was, he didn't need to face it alone.

"When I came home, I thought it would be about remembering. How to digest actual food. How to sleep on a real bed. How to walk in the sunshine without the fear of snipers, or mines, or shelling.

"But in the process of trying to remember, I forgot a lot of things."

He waved a hand vaguely, searching for the words that would explain it. "I, uh, forgot how much a smile or a laugh can do, how needed they are for living. I forgot what phenomenal friends I have. I forgot how much good we actually did over there. It was wasteful, a nightmare. But it wasn't all loss.

"There are a thousand things I wish I'd never seen, and I wish I could forget them all. But not you. Not this," he said, gesturing to the invisible something between them. The thing that pulled their souls together whether a camp or a country apart. "I never want to forget you."

Hawkeye smiled. "And I know I never will."


	38. Related

"Aunt Margaret!" a three year old Erin Hunnicutt squealed before launching herself into the nurse's arms. Margaret laughed and gave the little girl a tight hug. Though she'd known the child only a few days, she felt that they'd been acquainted much longer. It was good to see that Erin felt the same way.

B.J. had introduced her to his daughter using the fictitious title, but she had no protest. Her sister had children, and she loved her real nieces and nephews, but already she felt closer to Erin. To those children she was bound by blood, but with B.J., with all the members of their old camp, she shared something deeper.

In his words there had been an offer. They had developed a profound connection in that Korean hell, and though it had changed upon coming home, B.J.'s offer of family showed her that it wouldn't be neglected.

She was grateful to him for sharing his family, for allowing her to be a part of it. B.J.'s little daughter was precious, and she was determined and excited to be there for her growing up years. Margaret had an aunt's advice to offer on everything from lipstick to boys to combat training.

Erin was carefully explaining the picture she'd drawn, pointing out key figures and indecipherable shapes. Margaret smiled and hugged the small girl again, thankful and content.


	39. Pranked

"Alright," Colonel Potter asked the bunch of jokers, "Who is behind all this tomfoolery?" He wiped his eyes as he watched Klinger strut across the hotel ballroom in size eleven pumps, entirely failing at holding in his snickers.

The two majors and captains exchanged suspicious glances. Charles was the first to give. "Oh very well," the doctor admitted. Since the conference had nearly reached its end, he saw no harm in giving away his involvement. "After that debacle with the chicken on my tray, I decided to retaliate. I put the oatmeal in Pierce's shoes."

"You!" Hawkeye exclaimed. "I thought that was Margaret!"

"I told you it wasn't!" the nurse countered loudly.

Potter nodded to himself with growing understanding. "Let me guess, you were all so inspired that you each decided to get in on the action."

B.J. shrugged and smiled widely. "Guilty as charged, Colonel. I was responsible for some of the short sheeting and skivvies stealing."

"Radar's sign?" the older man asked the crowd at large.

Margaret raised a hand, her full lips quirking in a smile. "That was mine."

"The Klinger Collection?"

Hawkeye inclined his head to acknowledge his accomplices. "A group effort. With several wives, sisters, and nurses contributing clothes to the occasion."

Charles peered around the group. "What about the chicken that started it all, hmm? Whose doing was that?" His eyes narrowed toward the likeliest suspects.

"It wasn't us, Charles!"

There was a distinctive chortle and a proud smirk. "It was me."

Potter looked surprised at his old company clerk. "Radar?"

Radar nodded, and his glasses bounced on his nose. "Sure. I knew you guys would carry on like you did - you just needed an example. And I did promise some of the old fun."

The colonel laughed heartily and patted the younger man on the shoulder. "Well, I'll be."

The others in the group looked around in surprise then joined in the laughter and congratulations. "Good work, Radar," Hawkeye grinned at his protege. "You got us."

* * *

Only three chapters left; stay tuned!


	40. Goodbye

She'd made her goodbyes to everyone else at the reunion and was waiting for her luggage to be brought down. He waited with her, and the shared moments made her feel at once nervous and comforted. It was quiet between them.

The bellboy set her suitcase on the floor beside her, and before she could grab it, Hawkeye had it in hand. He gestured gentlemanly to the door and accompanied her out of the hotel. A cab was already waiting; the driver began to stow her things; and Margaret turned to her companion.

"You really have to go, don't you," Hawkeye said. His first words in a few minutes - a statement, not a question.

She swallowed in an effort to make her voice work. "I do."

They stared at each other for an uncountable number of seconds - blue eyes into blue. Goodbyes had always been hard for them. Words weren't forthcoming, and there was too much between them to say.

But there were other ways of communicating.

Just like a year ago, it was impossible to tell who moved first. All Margaret knew was that a certain look in his eyes, a tilt of his head, something in his posture, told her that he wanted the same thing she did. So they acted in tandem, two bodies meeting and melding in a fiery, lingering kiss.

It went on for blissful minutes - the two of them unconcerned by any onlookers. There could be no other goodbye between them.

Finally their lips parted. Each lowered their hands from the other's body, reluctance thinly masked by restraint. Hawkeye reached past her to open the cab door. It was his turn to swallow hard. "Well," he said finally, "So long."

Margaret drew a shuddery breath and resisted the urge to pull him back in. "See you," she replied in their now standard farewell. A hopeful lilt came into her voice. "Next year?"

His blue eyes were still intense, but the additional words got a small smile from him. "I'll be waiting."


	41. Farewell

Charles, B.J., and Colonel Potter stood just inside the hotel lobby, watching their two friends through the large paned windows. Hawkeye and Margaret were speaking, but their watchers couldn't make out the words. Yet all had some idea of what they might be saying.

B.J. smiled a little to himself and nudged Charles' arm with is elbow. "You owe me ten bucks."

The Boston doctor looked curiously at him. "Don't you think that's a bit premature?" He nodded to the window and the couple beyond it. "Nothing's happened."

"Three, two, one…" Without any warning Charles could make out, Hawkeye and Margaret came together in a passionate kiss.

B.J. held out his hand while Charles dug for his wallet, grumbling. "Oh, stuff it."

The three of them stood for an inordinate amount of time, waiting for their friends to end the public display of affection. They averted their eyes, Potter twiddling his thumbs, B.J. repeatedly checking his watch, and Charles examining the hotel lobby's crown molding.

Eventually, the kiss ended. B.J. consulted his watch once more and smirked in victory. "Well, Colonel?"

Potter's eyes widened as he looked at the time. "I'll be ate for a tater. They beat their record!"

"And that's another ten dollars from you," the former captain said, accepting the money from his old C.O.

"How'd you do it, B.J.?"

The tall man shrugged his shoulders. He nodded to the window where they could see Margaret finally entering the cab. "Where those two are concerned - easy."

Charles snorted in disagreement. Enjoying the same view he decided, "Where those two are concerned - anything but easy."

They watched the taxi pull away, but their friend outside made no move. Hawkeye watched the yellow car drive away until it was lost in a sea of hundreds of others like it. The three onlookers again turned away, feeling as though they were interrupting a goodbye just as intimate.

"True," Potter agreed at last. "But I'll still put money on a time when they don't say goodbye."


	42. Amen

Here it is, folks: the last chapter. I've enjoyed writing this story, and I hope you've enjoyed reading it. Thank you again for sticking with it and for leaving reviews! Until next time.

* * *

Their time together was coming to a close, and in the morning each would be bound for homes across the country, separate once again. The hall was filled with people savoring the time, stretching out the moments for one more story, one more hug. The connection that had once been their lifeline was being restored, and maybe when they left they'd not be as separate as they had been.

Colonel Potter rose from his seat, and the camp quieted before him, ever affectionate and respectful of their old C.O. The older man nodded in appreciation and gruffly cleared his throat. "It's been some weekend with all of you. I don't know how I managed without your antics for a year," he said with a grin and a significant look at a few of his listeners. "In many ways, it's like we never left one another, but in many ways we're meeting each other in a much better world."

He lifted his glass from the table, and the entire room followed suit. "To those gathered here who made a home out of a place just next door to hell."

Everyone looked around the large room decked out like their old camp, to the people who had kept them sane and made them feel loved. The group around "The Swamp" table moved closer together, soaking in the proximity and the camaraderie that went with it. Without words, their eyes communicated thanks to the people who had saved them.

"To all those who never made it home."

Many an eye in the room turned to Henry Blake's smiling portrait.

In a voice thick with emotion, Sherman Potter made one last toast. Hands clasped onto neighbors' or in silent prayer. Tears threatened or rolled down cheeks. Glasses were raised in solidarity and friendship, the sort only achieved through pain. Yet each of them knew powerfully that, whether here or in the days apart that would follow, they were not alone. Together they joined in a final, grateful toast.

"To peace."


End file.
